Hotel queens, p.13
Hotel Queens, page 13
“Well, that’s lovely, but it’s not very confidential if it then lands on a hotel front desk! What were they thinking?”
“That no one at some random hotel in Vegas can read Arabic?”
“What?”
“The fax is in Arabic, Graham said.”
Kai went cold. “That’s even worse. We have to negotiate these terms tomorrow. How can we do that if we can’t read them?” Kai grabbed her phone and stabbed a button. “Mr. Hamadani? Kai Fisher. I’m sorry to call so late… Yes, yes. Thank you. I did receive the terms. But there’s a problem: why are they in Arabic?” She paused, listening. “All right.” She ended the call.
“What did he say?”
“That it’s probably some simple error and he’ll call us back.”
“Okay.”
Kai stared at the blank wall, zoning out as she waited for the return call. Finally, her phone rang. “Mr. Hamadani.” Her mood darkened as she listened to him. “Wouldn’t he still be there now if the fax has just come through fifteen minutes ago? Can’t he do it again now?” She frowned. “All right. Tomorrow.” Kai hung up and sighed.
“What was his explanation?”
“That it’s some silly mistake. He has a junior law clerk in the London office who switched faxes and accidentally sent the English version to Hamadani’s father to review and the Arabic to us. The young man had apparently been working all night on translating it into Arabic and is exhausted because it’s now five in the morning in London.”
“Ah.”
“He was on the Tube, heading home, when Hamadani got a hold of him. He didn’t want to send the man back to the office just for this. He promised to get the first person who arrives at his office to send us the English copy first thing in the morning, our time.”
“That’s frustrating.”
“More than that. We’re forced into a negotiation, on the back foot, with little prep time tomorrow. We’re still digesting the contents, working out the ramifications, trying to negotiate clauses on the spot, while Hamadani’s on top of all of them. Huge advantage for him. I’m sure if it was a huge disadvantage for him, he’d have ordered the kid to turn around and fix his screw up.”
“We could ask for time to study the terms after we get them tomorrow,” Milly suggested. “Another day?”
“He’s leaving just after the conference, off to Dubai for a few months. If we take a whole day off to digest this and plan our counteroffer, we’ll run out of time to settle the main terms before he’s gone. Hamadani said repeatedly he wants our agreement done before he takes off so he can leave it in the hands of his lawyers to finalize with us.”
“So we’re stuck losing a day?”
“I don’t accept that. We just need to find a translator now, even though it’s late.”
Milly glanced at the clock. “A more common translation might be doable, but I don’t imagine there’s much call for twenty-four-seven Arabic translators in Vegas.”
“We need to try. I’ll fetch the fax; you find us a translator. I don’t care the cost.” Kai made to rise.
“Um…Ms. Fisher? Any reason that you don’t want me to pick up the fax?” Milly asked. “I can ask them about translation services while I’m down there. Concierge staff know way more about local services than any phone book.”
Kai inhaled. It’s not like she could confess to Milly that the real reason she had a burning desire to play fetch was because she had the hots for a certain temp employee. With a sigh, she waved Milly away. “No, fine. You’re right. Go.”
It was better this way anyway. How would she be able to concentrate on outwitting Hamadani if all she had in her mind was Lia Hanson’s popped-collar shirt porn?
Amelia glanced up as a short, freckled, frazzled woman appeared in front of her desk. Her large green eyes were fixed on the night desk supervisor, Graham.
“I’m here to pick up a fax,” she told him. “You just rang me?”
“Ah, Ms. Valentine, yes.” Graham disappeared into the office and returned with paperwork. “Here you are.”
“I don’t suppose you know anyone at this hour who can do translations?” Ms. Valentine asked him.
“We offer our own service during business hours, but that’s not something we can handle this late, especially given the language involved. And I’m afraid there are no twenty-four-hour translation services in Vegas. But I could leave a note for Mrs. Menzies to follow up for you in the morning.”
“Oh. I see.” Her shoulders sank as she nodded and thanked him.
Amelia’s feet were aching, her back was worse, and she’d not been allowed a dinner break yet. All she wanted was to sink into her bed and sleep for a week. Even so, in the face of the young woman’s desperation, she couldn’t stop herself asking: “Which language? I know a few.”
Ms. Valentine turned in surprise. Before she could reply, Graham gave a soft snort and said, “Arabic.”
Amelia simply nodded and came around the counter. “You’re in luck. I can handle this.”
The woman gasped. “You can?”
“You know Arabic?” Graham asked with equal incredulity.
“Yes. Do you want me to do it here?” Amelia asked the woman.
“Oh my goodness. Yes, no, I mean, please, come up to my boss’s room. We need confidentiality.”
“Lead the way.”
She glanced back at her supervisor, who stared after her, astonishment rendering him mute.
“Thank God,” Ms. Valentine was saying as they walked. “I can’t believe you know Arabic. Thank you.” Her brow wrinkled for a moment. “Do I know you from somewhere?”
“Not that I’m aware of.” As she said it, the name Valentine did ring a faint bell. “Did I check you in today?”
“No, ma’am. We’ve been here four days already.”
“Then no.”
Ms. Valentine accepted that answer and wordlessly led them to her suite.
Amelia followed, barely taking in her surroundings. She was exhausted, but it felt good to help a guest who seemed so grateful.
The woman opened her door and pointed Amelia to a desk by the window. “This way, Ms…?”
“Call me Lia.”
“Sure. I’m Milly. So we received a legal document, but we got an Arabic version instead of English by mistake, and we’re supposed to negotiate the contents tomorrow.”
We? Amelia looked around but saw no one else.
“How can my boss be prepped tonight and know what the seller wants if we can’t understand it? And online translations are unreliable.”
“I understand.” Amelia eyed a half-eaten plate of food on the desk as she slid into the chair. “And you are quite correct about the internet’s quality control.”
“Oh, sorry.” Milly snatched up the plate. “My boss was too worked up to eat… I’ll just…” She scampered off with it.
Moments later, a thick sheaf of documents were placed in front of Amelia, and with them came a scent she’d recognize anywhere. Her head snapped up to find Kai had entered from the adjacent suite’s doors.
Oh. That’s how she knew the name Valentine. She’d reassigned her to a new room today, along with Kai.
“Why, the multi-talented Lia Hanson,” Kai drawled as she slid into the chair opposite. “I had no idea Arabic was in your box of tricks. I suppose it makes sense. It’s a numbers thing.”
“A numbers thing?”
“People good with numbers are good with languages. Music, too.”
“If you say so.” No need to prove Kai right by admitting she played a pretty decent piano. Amelia pulled the first page of the fax closer to give herself something to focus on.
“Would you like a drink?” Milly asked.
“No thanks,” Amelia replied.
She scanned the words and frowned. Several confidential aspects of the contract were missing, namely the price and buyer, which made sense since this was clearly an early draft from the vendor. But one thing she could see all-too clearly was the vendor’s name…and exactly what he was offering.
Nedal al-Hamadani was selling Mayfair Palace. To someone else.
Amelia’s heart stopped. How could he?
Who was the buyer—who did Kai work for? She scanned the contract a second time, but those details had been left blank, waiting to be filled in.
Why was the contract in Arabic? Thanks to his university education in London, Nedal had a superb command of English. His legal and business background meant he could write a pretty decent first-draft contract when he wanted to.
How could he?
The shock started wearing off and a worse thought hit. It was wildly inappropriate for her to even be reading this. Theoretically, Duxton Vegas could be sued for providing a compromised translator to handle sensitive documents. But it was already too late. She’d seen the contents and knew Nedal was selling, even if the buyer’s name wasn’t listed. What good could excusing herself do now?
“What is it?” Kai asked, concern darting across her face. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Or a whole haunted house worth of them.”
Amelia drew in a breath and considered her options. All she could do was her job. She stared in dismay at the words, still unable to believe her friend would take away her dream hotel.
“Seriously, Lia, are you okay?” Kai asked, and this time, the concern was clear.
“I’m sorry. I was not expecting such a long translation. It’s late, I haven’t eaten dinner, and perhaps my blood sugar levels are low.” Not even a lie.
Kai frowned. “We’ll get you food. Anything. What would you like?”
To rewind this evening? To unknow what she did?
Milly’s voice came, muffled, from the inside the mini-bar fridge. “There’s chocolate. Would that help your condition?”
“I…” Well, for all Amelia knew, she did have low blood sugar. “Thank you.”
A moment later, Milly placed a chocolate bar beside her. “I could order you a meal, too? So you can eat and translate?”
“No, this will be fine.” Amelia undid the wrapper and slowly bit in. She swallowed, forcing the small mouthful down her throat.
“Well?” Kai asked. “Feeling better?”
After one bite? Amelia looked at her incredulously.
“Sorry,” Kai murmured. “I’m too damned focused on this contract.”
“I understand.”
“Can you tell me what the main points are?”
“Um…” Amelia mentally shook herself. “You’ve been sent a Heads of Terms agreement, that’s a Letter of Intent in the US. It contains a list of pre-conditions to negotiate between two parties before the sale.”
Kai nodded. “So what are these terms?”
“This hotel developer, Nedal al-Hamadani…” she pushed back the rise of bile at his name, “…wants the Mayfair Palace buyer to…” Amelia trailed off, eying a batch of errors. This had clearly been slapped together quickly. And the deal had to be completed by February the…thirtieth?
Had time been so short that Nedal had flung this to some office junior and they’d dashed it off too fast, filled with errors? That might also explain why it was in Arabic to start with.
“Let me write down the main terms he wants to negotiate.” Amelia scribbled down the key points, warts and all.
Kai leaned forward to read upside-down as Amelia wrote. “That can’t be right,” she said, tapping one point. “Are you sure the word isn’t meant to be ‘vendor’ there? Why would a seller tie a buyer to exclusivity? Sellers don’t care how many other hotels a buyer purchases at the same time as theirs.”
No kidding. Amelia looked up. “I promise that is exactly what it says. On that note, I’d recommend a thorough appraisal of this document by an expert.”
It was the closest she could come to screaming that the whole thing was a hastily written mess. Her warning was the most ethical thing she could think to do without editorializing, which was absolutely not a translator’s job. And she had to be painfully neutral given how compromised she was. Any hint she was trying to influence this deal or deliberately mistranslate the fax could end badly. Hell, the ethics of the entire situation made her stomach churn.
“Thanks so much again for helping us,” Milly said. “We don’t have much experience with foreign deals. This is our first. There’s bound to be a learning curve all round.”
A learning curve? Amelia really hoped these two weren’t just winging it on their first international deal because Nedal might present as easygoing, but he was also a shrewd negotiator who could pick his teeth with their bones if they weren’t on the ball. She and Nedal had always had a wary respect for each other when it came to doing deals.
At the reminder that Nedal was behind all this, her stomach clenched again. How could he? He’d been such a strong ally to her and Mariam when their relationship had come out. He’d been loyal and steadfast, despite his father’s anger. And now this?
Milly clasped her hands in front of herself. “We got so lucky you were on duty tonight.” Her sweet, unguarded gratitude warmed Amelia.
“Yes,” Kai said, her voice a sultry murmur that made Amelia tingle. “You do have so many skills. You’re a life saver.”
Amelia pushed her bullet points over to Kai. “Will this summary be sufficient? Or do you want it translated line by line?”
“That seems to be enough to start our negotiations. We don’t have a lot of time to be on top of it all.” Kai studied the list. “Seriously?” She pointed to the February 30 error.
Amelia sighed. “Yes. Seriously.”
For once, the woman seemed robbed of words. Her eyes narrowed as though contemplating the implications of such a glaring mistake. Kai’s gaze settled on Amelia. “Thanks again, Ms. Hanson.” The warm timbre of her voice was unsettling.
“You’re welcome, Ms. Fisher. I do aim to please our guests.” The words came out sounding like a challenge. She honestly hadn’t meant it that way, but the way Kai’s eyes widened told Amelia she’d liked it very much.
They stared at each other until Milly, eyes darting between them in confusion, cleared her throat.
Kai glanced back at the paperwork. “Milly, please get me a coffee. I can see it’s going to be a long night.” Her eyes flicked back up to Amelia’s as Milly left the room.
For a moment, they studied each other. Finally Amelia realized she had far better things to be doing, and guest-gawping was certainly not an approved job activity.
She rose to her feet, which protested, nodded at Kai, and left. As she closed the door, she couldn’t hold back the start of a smile at the thought of the distracting Kai Fisher. Until she remembered what she’d just read.
Nedal al-Hamadani was selling her out.
Amelia stretched out her aching legs, relieved her twelve-hour shift had ended, and stared at the ceiling above her bed.
How had she misjudged Nedal so badly? She’d never seen him double-cross anyone, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t capable. Throw his powerful father into the mix, a man who’d been micromanaging his son more and more lately, and who knew what was going on?
What if it wasn’t too late, though? A deal that had been countered by a better offer could be countered again…as long as this wasn’t about Mariam. If it was, well, this was game over.
Her thoughts spun chaotically until she finally gave up. She needed Quinn. It might be only six in the morning for her second-in-command, but this definitely counted as a disaster.
“Amelia?” came a sleep-fogged voice.
“Did you find out where Nedal went?”
“Not…exactly.”
“Well, we need him exactly. We need him more urgently than ever.”
“What’s happened?” Quinn asked, sounding more alert.
“It seems he’s selling Mayfair Palace to someone else.”
“How do you know?” Quinn gasped.
“An unfortunate series of events I’d rather not go into at the moment, but it looks very bad. Just tell me: Are you making progress?”
“Nedal’s phone goes straight to voicemail. I still try it every hour.”
“Damn.”
“Yeah. So I, um, may have also gotten a little desperate.”
“Oh?”
“I called Mariam. Her number’s still in your contacts list.”
Amelia’s heart did a painful clench at her ex’s name. She steeled her tone to even. “And?”
“I’ll let you know what she says when she returns my call. But at least she’ll know where her brother went, right?”
“I suppose.” Amelia closed her eyes, too exhausted to think about this properly. “Yes, she’d know.”
“Are you okay?”
“I was better until I found out Nedal betrayed us.”
“We don’t know for sure yet, do we? It’s just a tip-off, right?”
A lot more than that. “I really can’t talk about it.”
“Okay, then tell me how your first day went undercover? Front desk, wasn’t it?”
“Mmm. A lot of standing about and fixing people’s minor issues that could be easily solved themselves. Plus dealing with a good child with a bad temper and an AWOL nanny.”
“You had to deal with a kid?”
“Why so surprised? Kids love me.”
“I’ve noticed. I think it’s because you treat them all like short adults, you don’t lie to them, and you answer all their annoying questions without complaining.”
“I have no idea why people always find questions that expand one’s knowledge annoying instead of a sign of intelligence. That reminds me: I owe Imogen a chat. God forbid we don’t get to the bottom of her pressing owl-knee conundrum.”
“I won’t ask.” Quinn chuckled. “So, fess up—did anyone pick up that you weren’t who you claimed?”
“One guest figured out I was a fake in, oh, two minutes flat.” Amelia sighed. “Worse, she deduced I was a Duxton, too.”
